Party of One: A Memoir in 21 Songs - Dave Holmes Page 0,56

fire under me. I had somehow reached the age of twenty-seven—four years of which I’d spent in New York City—without meeting very many people who loved what they did. I’d somehow heard the phrase “show business” a million times without hearing the word “business.” It had escaped my understanding that if you have a passion, even if that passion is pop culture or music videos or doll clothing or whatever thing you love that the world tells you is frivolous, there is a business built around it. People make money doing it or planning it or writing about it. There is a place for you and for me. Being in that studio had jolted me to life. I felt like Gonzo after having visited the stratosphere via balloon. I was going to go back there someday.

“So I didn’t get a call,” I wrote. “But I’ve decided that it’s okay because starting right now, I a…”

The journal entry ends right there. At literally 11:59 p.m. on Tuesday night, I got a phone call. I picked it up after one quarter of a ring.

It was Amanda. “Dave? You’re not going to believe this, but you made the top ten.”

Holy fucking shit.

I was to report to 1515 Broadway the next morning at 11:00 a.m. and expect to spend the day in the studio. There would be interviews, more things to fill out, and then a live show full of challenges after which they’d choose the top five. I walked ten laps around my block trying to get tired enough to go to sleep. No dice.

First thing in the morning, I called my boss and came clean. I had not been sick; I had been interviewing—I said “interviewing,” like it was a normal thing and not a giant circus I’d willingly joined—for a job at MTV. “I’ll be there all day tomorrow, but if you need me to come in at night and get anything done, let me know,” I told her. “Oh, no,” she said, “We really, really do not need for you to come in.”

Gigi, the maternal MTV receptionist, greeted me at the door to the studios and took me to the green room, where the top ten were gathering. They included a red-haired skater kid who called himself “Ducci,” due to his resemblance to a young Danny Bonaduce; a beautiful blond pixie named Kiele who had answered on her questionnaire that she was voted most likely to become an MTV VJ, and brought in her high school yearbook to prove it; Danielle, an African American girl next door; a handsome guy named David who worked at Kim’s Video downtown and loved to talk music, and who I recognized as my direct competition.

And then I heard the voice.

“Heeeeeyyy everybahhhhdy…”

It was the tall, emaciated model from the line on Monday morning, and she was a dude. She was a dude with a variety of scarves tied at various places on various limbs, with outstretched toothpick arms, with a voice like the child of Carol Channing and an automatic pencil sharpener.

“What’s up? I’m JESSE.”

Well, I thought. We have a winner.

I decided that my goal would be to roam the studio as much as they’d let me. To talk to as many people as I could. To see who does what and where I’d be useful. To treat it like a job interview that just happens to air live on MTV.

At 3:00 p.m., the live show started. Carson, Ananda Lewis, and a British guy named Toby Amies were the hosts. The ten of us lined up across the studio. At the beginning of the show, we went down the line, introduced ourselves, and told Carson our favorite songs. Mine was “Philosophy” by Ben Folds Five. I think it was true, but more important, it felt on-brand.

The entertainment for that day was a new pop group that had had some hits in Germany, and whose single “I Want You Back” was just starting to get some radio play: NSYNC. They were in oversized jeans and sweater vests with nothing underneath, as fashion dictated. Chris Kirkpatrick looked like a rasta pineapple. Justin Timberlake’s hair was a blond Jheri Curl confection. I looked out onto Times Square, where two small pockets of fans stared up: a pair of German girls holding aloft a piece of posterboard on which they’d written “ICH LIEBE NSYNC,” and a few older women with a sign that spelled the band’s name out with the last letter in each member’s first name: JustiN, ChriS,